“This is what we’ve got, folks,” Crawford said, his voice booming over the wind and thunder. “Suspected hostage situation, two people in the residence, thirty-seven-year-old Dr. Devon Wolfe and eight-year-old Aimee West. To our knowledge, the hostage taker is twenty-four-year-old Holly Mason, aka Mace. Mace is a computer hacker with a history of political interference but no known violent tendencies.”
Marley shivered. What did Mace want?
“Marlowe, the layout of the house, please.”
Marley snapped back to her sergeant.
“Yes, sir,” she said. She relayed the layout to the other officers, using the similar houses around them to point out which windows led to which rooms.
When she was done, Crawford dispatched two officers to approach the house from the tree-covered backyard and two to station themselves with binoculars across the street. They needed intel, he said. Until they could make contact to find out the situation and the possible demands, they needed to know as much as they could about the occupants of the house.
“Marley, call again.”
She did. Still no answer. Without being asked, she called again. Marley couldn’t stand the stillness of the silence. She even welcomed the sounds of the storm, making it feel like something was alive and breathing around her.
“Marley!”
Marley turned to see Carla being escorted toward her by an officer.
“Carla,” Marley said, hugging the woman tightly.
“What do we know? What’s going on?”
“It’s Mace, the woman who worked with Randolph to develop the new opioid. I got a text from Devon that makes us think she’s inside with Devon and Aimee.”
“Mace? That’s the one we think asked Aimee to keep a secret? The one Aimee wouldn’t talk about.”
“Yes,” Marley said. “We’re trying to make contact and figure out who is inside and where.”
“I left them in the kitchen, though I’m not sure that means anything. I’ve only been gone about half an hour. I took the car out of the garage, Devon said to.”
“The garage?” Marley said. “I didn’t know Devon used that garage for her car.”
“She said she puts it in during big storms because she’s seen a lot of branches come down in her neighbourhood in storms like this. Said to leave it open until I got back.”
“So the garage door is open, and the downstairs entrance to the house is unlocked?”
“I think so,” Carla said. “Marley, what are you going to do?”
She stared down at her uniform, her black boots, the utility belt around her hips. She was not this uniform, she’d known that for a long time now. But she could use this uniform, use her training, use the team around her to get Devon and Aimee to safety.
Marley dialed Devon’s number again. She didn’t expect a response. This call went directly to voice mail. She approached Sgt. Crawford. “Anything?” she asked.
“Movement in the living room but no positive IDs, the room is too dark. Reports of voices, both adults, but we can’t hear what they’re saying. We’ve got a clear line of vision into the kitchen but no movement.”
“So, not much.”
“Not much,” Crawford confirmed.
“I’d like to go in.”
“I don’t think that’s wise given how little we know. Have you called again?”
“Yes, sir. And I believe Devon’s phone is now off, so we have no hope of making contact unless it’s face-to-face.”
Crawford stared down the street, even though they were camped out around the corner from Devon’s house.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, constable.”
Marley felt a thrill of excitement and fear snake up through her belly.
“I’m going to go up and knock on the front door,” Marley said.
“That’s your whole plan?”
“Part one,” Marley said, giving him a grim smile. “In twenty minutes from the time I walk in, send a team in through the open and unlocked garage. Stairs lead from the basement into the kitchen, right outside the living room. I’ll try to signal what room we’re in, but I can’t guarantee it.”
Crawford was silent.
“What’s your plan for those twenty minutes, Officer?”
“I’m going to talk. Or listen. My guess is unless Devon is hurt, she’s already got Mace talking. I’ll seek out the demands, de-escalate as I can, and seek a peaceful resolution.”
“And if none of that is possible?”
“I’ll protect the vulnerable and wait for backup.”
“Are you going in armed?”
“No.”
“Good,” Crawford said. “Leave use of force to your backup.”
“Yes, sir,” Marley said.
Marley let Crawford update the team as she walked back to Carla. She was standing with Superman, who was talking to Carla in a low, steady voice. Sometimes a constant, steadying presence was all you had to keep you grounded. She needed to be that for Devon and for Aimee.
“I’m going in,” Marley said. “Constable Stills will stay with you and let you know what’s happening.” She looked up at Superman, and he affirmed her request with a nod.
Carla clutched Marley’s arm. “Be safe,” she whispered.
Marley nodded and went back to Crawford. She unclipped her gun from her belt and handed it over to him, holster and all.
“Any advice, sir?”
“You know the goals, Marlowe. Be smart, be ready, and trust your backup. I’ll see you on the other side of this.”
Without another pause, without taking a breath or looking at anyone else on the team, she started walking toward Devon’s street. Rain was falling in fat drops that dotted the sidewalk. Thunder rumbled above and around. Marley caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. A branch in the wind maybe, or the officer stationed across the street.
Marley walked up the stairs to Devon’s front door. She checked her phone, the signal for Crawford to start the twenty-minute countdown.
Marley knocked on the door.
* * *
Mace had just stared at Devon when she’d first invited her to sit and talk. Then she’d pulled out her phone and typed a long message or series of messages or something. Devon had just sat there, itching to pull out her own phone to check in with Marley and trying desperately not to listen for sounds from the kitchen.
After a few minutes, Mace shoved her phone into her pocket and looked at Devon.
“Where is Aimee West?”
“With her grandmother. Shopping.”
Mace gave her a hard stare. Then she sat down across from Devon, leaning forward on her knees.
“You have a lot of reasons to lie to me, I understand that. But you shouldn’t.”
Mace began unbuttoning her cardigan, but Devon looked at Mace’s face, not at her fingers on the pearl pink buttons. She didn’t know what this was, but she knew she couldn’t react. Neutrality, calmness, and connection without boundary-crossing would establish trust, and she’d need Mace to trust her if they were going to get out of this.
Mace was wearing a black tank top underneath her sweater, and her arms were covered in vibrant tattoos. One sleeve was a design entirely made up of blue and green fish scales, the other a series of concentric circles in black and gold and red. Beautiful and sinister.
Mace caught Devon looking at her tattoos and smirked.
“My sleeves aren’t even the most interesting thing about me,” Mace said.
“What is the most interesting thing about you?” Devon said, unsure if Mace would answer.
“My brain,” Mace said immediately. “I think in ways no one else does.”
“It’s always been that way? Since you were a kid?”
“Since the day I was born. A day I remember, by the way. Hyperthymesia. Excessive remembering.”
“I’ve read about that,” Devon said, finding an inlet and following it. “It’s a very small percentage of the population.”
Mace’s
eyes lit up. “Now you’ve met one. But I’m not going to be added to your collection.”
“What do you mean?”
“Doctors, psychologists, and psychiatrists used to try and collect me. Puzzle me out. Fix me. Scan my brain, make me jump through hoops, and write me up in their journals. But I’m not here to be collected, Dr. Wolfe.”
Just as Devon was about to ask why Mace was here, her phone rang. Devon looked down at her phone, Marley’s name illuminated on the screen, then back up at Mace.
“I’d like to answer it.”
“I’m sure you would. Let it go.”
They both stared at the phone until it went silent.
“Should I call you Mace?” Devon said.
Mace shrugged. “It’s good enough.”
Her phone rang again. She let it ring in her lap. Mace stared at it while it rang. Her slight shoulders relaxed when it was finally silent.
“Why are you here, Mace?”
Mace seemed to shake herself out of her stare trance. “Who did you contact? Who did you tell I was here?”
“Aimee’s grandmother, Carla. And Constable Marlowe with the Hamilton police.”
Mace did not seem particularly distressed by this news.
“Ballsy.”
Devon said nothing.
“We got sidetracked. I wanted to tell you the reason you shouldn’t lie to me. And I need to tell you before the police arrive.” She pulled out her phone again. “We’ve got about twenty minutes is my guess.” She tapped it, and Devon thought she heard the faint sound of static. “I put a small antenna on your front porch on my way in. Hope you don’t mind. The cops make it so easy to track what they’re doing, thankfully.”
Devon kept her face neutral, though the adrenaline and anxiety she’d been keeping down spiked. She tried not to show how unnerved she was by Mace’s calmness, at her planning, at her confidence.
“What did you want to tell me?” Devon said, trying to swing things back to the two of them. She needed this resolved before Marley came. And she knew, with every breath and scared beat of her heart, that Marley was coming.
“I’ll show you.”
Mace tapped her phone then turned it around so Devon could see. It was a photo of a small plastic yellow box, like a hard shell camera case. Inside was a series of wires and a motherboard and circuits. Devon’s heart plummeted down through her stomach.
“What am I looking at?”
“You’re looking at an incendiary device, Dr. Wolfe.”
“Where is it?”
Mace took her phone back and smiled fondly down at the picture for a moment before looking back at Devon. “We’ll get to that eventually.” She threw her phone on the couch. “Where’s Aimee?”
“She’s with her grandmother, Carla. They went shopping.”
“What has she told you about me?”
“She wouldn’t talk about it. She refused to communicate when specifically asked about you.”
“And what did you glean from that, Dr. Wolfe?”
“I assumed she has some kind of trauma associated with a memory of you. Aimee had communicated other difficult things to us, mostly about living with her father, but she shut down when it came to talking about you.”
Mace’s eyes gleamed, and Devon’s stomach rolled with nausea. “What are you afraid of?” Devon said.
Before Mace could answer, Devon’s phone rang. Marley. The chimes sounded loud and out of the place in this silence. The phone went quiet, the house went quiet. Then it rang again.
“Turn it off.”
Devon powered down her phone and placed it on the coffee table between them.
Mace only glanced at it briefly, then her eyes took on a far-off look, like she was listening to something in her head. When Mace turned to the large window overlooking the street, Devon saw the small ear bud. She was listening to the police.
“Let’s wait for Constable Marlowe,” Mace said. “She’s on her way in.”
Devon tried to control her breath, which was suddenly shallow and far away. She tried to swallow, tilting her head back and staring at the ceiling, as Mace walked to the front window, standing to the side and peering out.
A knock sounded at the door. Breath fled.
“Let her in.”
For the first time, Devon’s fear flared to anger. She looked at Mace standing by the window. She was so small, no meat or muscle on her. Devon stood from her spot on the couch, adrenaline replacing the paralyzing anxiety in her system. She could do this. She could walk over and take Mace down. Pin her arms, bring her to the floor. A confusing array of images streaked across her vision as she advanced.
Mace held up her phone as Devon moved closer.
“No, Dr. Wolfe,” Mace said calmly. A yellow box, circuits. Incendiary device. “Answer the door, then sit back down. My show, not yours.”
Devon blinked, and the anger was gone, the vision was gone. She was a psychologist, not an officer.
Devon opened her front door.
Marley was pale, her hair windblown and her uniform dotted with rain.
“Hi, Devon. You okay?”
“Yes. Come in. Mace wants to talk to us.”
Marley walked past Devon into the house. Devon looked outside at the wind-whipped dusk. No cars on the street, no neighbours. Just a lashing wind, rolls of far-off thunder, and rain. Devon strained to see Marley’s backup, a desperate and scared visual sweep.
Nothing.
“Join us, Dr. Wolfe.”
Devon closed the door. The storm and their rescue on one side, she and Marley and Aimee with Mace on the other.
Marley stood in the living room, hands by her side, an open expression on her face as she looked at Mace.
“Holly Mason, I’m Constable Bridget Marlowe.”
“It’s Mace. Are you armed?”
“Mace, okay.” Marley put her hands up and spun in a circle. “No, I’m not armed. I have a radio and a phone. I’d like to connect with my commanding officer and let him know your demands.”
“Where’s Aimee West?”
Marley turned to look at Devon. “I don’t know. Devon?”
“She and Carla went shopping about an hour ago.”
Marley turned back to Mace. “What do you want with Aimee?”
“Just to talk.”
“You’re wanted by the RCMP for questioning in relation to several different charges. We know you broke into our police files today and are linked to this drug case. Why do you think we’d let you close to an eight-year-old girl?”
Devon could see Mace’s agitation as she stared at Marley and looked back to the window.
“Because I’m the only way you’re going to get real answers about what Randolph West cooked up. I read the files. Your labs are close but not that close. You want to know why the withdrawal symptoms are wreaking havoc on the addicts in your city? Tell me where the kid is. We’ll talk. It’s that simple.”
“No,” Marley said. “Not like this. I’m not bargaining with a kid, and my commanding officer won’t either. Come down to the station and tell us what you know. It sounds like you’ve got information we need, and I think you know you can use that to reduce your sentence.”
Mace gave a frustrated growl and ran a hand through her hair. This wasn’t going the way she wanted. She flicked the curtain closed and walked over to where Devon and Marley were standing.
“How about an explosive device planted at one of the hospitals in the city?” Mace said. “It’s going to be a rough night to evacuate to other facilities. High winds so heli-med is grounded. Potential flooding. Widespread power outages.” Mace made a tut-tut sound and shook her head in mock sympathy. “That’s a lot of injuries on your shoulders, Constable Marlowe, when all I want to do is talk to Aimee West for five minutes.”
Devon’s arms tingled then went numb, the sensation crawling up her chest. She looked at Marley, paler still in this light, with this news.
“I’d like to update my commanding officer,” Marley sai
d.
Mace waved an impatient hand. “Use your radio so I can monitor the conversation.”
Marley spoke into the handheld radio attached to her shoulder. Static hissed back at her. She tried again. Mace frowned and looked at her phone.
“Must be the storm causing interference,” Mace said.
Devon could see Marley’s brain do something with that news. Something fell into place, but Devon couldn’t think what it was.
“I’ll just text,” Marley said, pulling out her phone.
“No,” Mace said, lunging across the space and slapping Marley’s phone out of her hands. It hit the floor with a clatter as Marley took a defensive stance, legs bracing her body, presenting the smallest target. But Mace had already retreated back to the couch, looking shocked and agitated.
“Shit. Fuck. Just don’t…don’t do anything. Let me sort this out.”
Mace was unraveling. Frayed nerves, action with no thought, no plan B.
Marley glanced at Devon, motioning for her to take a few steps back. She was reading Mace’s agitation as well.
“I need to let my commanding officer know about the hospitals,” Marley said. “It’s your bargaining chip, let me use it.”
Mace clutched her phone with one hand, the other covering her mouth like she wanted to scream.
“Three hospitals,” Mace mumbled. Then she removed her hand. “Three hospitals. One of them is already at capacity tonight. Four hundred and eleven people, including patients and staff. One hospital and four hundred people.”
Marley bent down slowly to pick up her phone, keeping her eyes on Mace. “Good,” Marley said. “This is good. Let me tell them.”
Bad, Devon thought, her chest so tight it hurt. All of this was so bad.
“Four hundred people for five minutes with Aimee West,” Mace said, breathing through her fingers. “You tell your boss that.”
Marley typed and Devon watched Mace. Her poise was gone. This interface was not what she had expected. Loss of control was a dangerous thing.
“How can we make this easier?” Devon said.
Mace looked around the room, stopping at Devon, then back to Marley. She was mumbling into her fingers, phone still clutched in her hands.
“How can we make this better?” Devon tried again.
Storm Lines Page 23
